


Wave

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wave

**One.**

The water. It always goes back to the water for him, to the memory of being dragged to the surface, sputtering, coughing, freezing cold, hair streaming into his face, blinding him. Those blue eyes being the first thing he saw, the first thing he remembers – and then the (recognition) that someone – this man – was in his head.

 _How did you do that?_

A (reassurance) wave of something in his brain again – and the man, Charles, tells him he’s _like_ him. Like Erik.

Not alone.

And yet that is what is he is, no matter the calming thoughts or the touch Erik can’t get out of his mind, pounding, thudding, shaking him like a tree in a storm. It’s the one thing he keeps going back to, and it’s the one thing he can’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tries. The man’s – Charles’ – arms around his neck, his gasped breath in Erik’s ear, his body pressed to Erik’s back.

He thinks oddly it’s the first touch he’s received in his life (since mama) that hadn’t pained him, no matter the loss of the submarine. But then he remembers the plan and the goal and he is ashamed momentarily, anger surging, thoughts of Charles and his hands washed away as Erik’s power and the sub had nearly washed Erik away as well.

 **Two.**

 _What do you know about me?_

Erik can sense the smirk that blossoms into a smile when he turns back to look at Charles.

 _Everything._

The power of that word, the control behind it – it reaches Erik like a lover’s caress, light, dancing, a tease of wings on his face and heart, insinuated boldly, interfering with his idea, his thoughts, his one throbbing hot mess of a goal. He is angry at first – but then Charles walks away, not controlling, not doing what he could to make Erik stay, even though the cocky bastard reminds Erik he could. But he doesn’t, and Erik hesitates, feeling the touch of (everything) the word stay with him, pulsing, soft and light and lovely and he clenches his right hand into a fist (never damage the left; the power likes it best) and slams it into the brick of the fencing that is next to him.

The power the other man wields is more dangerous than any Erik’s ever heard of or even thought of. He wonders if Charles realizes that –

And then lets the laughter take him.

 **Three.**

Charles succeeds in hiding them in the truck; Erik sighs and lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He pats Charles on the knee – air streaming from his nostrils, steam in the chill of the loud, uncomfortable vehicle – and Charles smiles at him, no trace of cockiness or _it’s good, isn’t it_ in the gesture. He lays a hand on Erik’s shoulder and leans over to him, his hair brushing Erik’s ear as the soldiers in the truck talk amongst themselves (how in the fuck did he do that??), Erik’s hat hiding his eyes even from Charles.

“We’ll find him. We’ll find your answers,” he whispers, and Erik, in this moment, discovers he loves this man, has loved him since the water, and is more terrified of that than he is of finding Shaw at last.

 **Four.**

The anger that has served him for so long isn’t enough, apparently. What _is_ enough is Charles digging into his mind and pulling up something Erik thought was long gone, something he thought he’d hidden forever even from himself. The sun is bright and warm on his bent head and he allows the few tears that have come unbidden to fall down his face; it’s only Charles with him, after all, only Charles that matters and the other man is crying as well and when he says _that’s a beautiful memory, Erik, thank you_ Erik is struck by the dichotomy of Charles and can only stare at him as he answers _I didn’t think I still had that._

Charles steps closer and there is nothing but him and his lips and the words he speaks and Erik is mesmerized, surprised and annoyed at the fact he can’t do anything but watch and listen and (I’m agreeing to this) and for the love of God, when Charles tell him to _try again, hmm?_ and touches Erik’s shoulder it’s like lightning and

He uses one hand and channels the love and hate and the fucking dish moves.

And there is Charles, pounding him on the back, laughing with him, all red cheeks and wide smile and Erik wonders again if the power of their connection – their minds, forced together, yet meshing as easily as anything within a breath of meeting – is all that he needs. The little voice in his head that reminds him of why he’s here is silent, and he shoves a hand through his messy hair and smiles at Charles and thinks without meaning to _thank you, Charles._

The giant grin on Charles face slips to a tiny smile, one side of his mouth curled as he blinks away the last of his tears.

 _for you anything._

Erik cocks his head and opens his mouth and Moira shouts out the window and Charles is gone back to the mansion.

 **Five.**

He is all hands, all lips and tongue and Charles is hot breath and whimpers and Erik slams Charles into the bookcase in the corner of the futzy study, full of so many _things_ Erik wonders how Charles even knows what he owns. A ridiculous sense of entitlement – Erik shoves the other man again, and kisses him like he can’t breathe (drowning) and Charles’ fingers are under his shirt and up his scarred back and for a second there is a tenderness and Erik almost collapses to his knees but Charles’ thought pattern changes and it’s heat and wet warmth and their clothing is gone.

Touch, hands skimming – Erik feels Charles’ eyelashes flutter against his cheek, feels the other man’s hands on his buttocks, feels the sides of Charles’ knees on his hips –

 _Erik Erik Erik oh my god Erik_

and the thoughts turn to one great jumble of (feelings) no words, merely images and colors and Erik opens his own mind and allows the caress of Charles’ mind to overpower his own control.

When he comes it’s not with a bang or a scream or a cry, but a silent exchange of muted _things_ he can’t name or describe. He wants to close his eyes, but he can’t. He stares at Charles as his hips stop moving; sweat drips, a series of slow motion frames in a black and white art film he wouldn’t deign to ever see.

Charles follows Erik with his eyes wide open, staring into Erik’s blue irises, mouth closed, face serene and hands on Erik’s shoulders, mind washing through Erik’s starved brain, the tide of his thoughts rushing and pulling and forming dunes (not alone, love) that should have been there many years ago.

Wind blows leisurely through the open window and Erik finally drops his face to Charles’ shoulder, too overwhelmed to tremble, although his fingers grab a bit roughly at Charles’ hair.

He rests his nose in the crook made by the join of the other man’s neck and collar bone, and Charles turns his face toward Erik, his lips resting lightly on Erik’s forehead.

Blessed silence.

 **End.**

The bullet is his fault; he knows it, but he’s willing to blame anyone else, because he can’t take the cessation of the stream of connection that he and Charles have found. The helmet he throws to the ground; he knows he’ll be sorry, but he wants this, wants the touch, wants it.

They want the same thing, after all.

 _Oh my friend, I’m sorry._

 _We do not._

As though a switch is turned off.

He watches Charles’ face, watches the other man cry a second time for him, cries himself without realizing it. Lets the CIA woman come and take Charles out of his arms, walks to the other mutants (his family now; he knows he’s done the right thing, taken the right step BUT NO)sliding in the sand a bit as he goes, taking Azazel’s hand as he waits for the others to join them.

He’s picked the helmet back up, and spares a look for Charles once more

(as though a switch was turned off)

he slips the helmet on and takes the girl’s hand in his and (blink) they’re gone in the space of a moment, the connection (Charles) is merely a whisper in his starving brain, a possibility, and endless ocean where he submits to the suffocating depth again and again with no arms to drag him to the surface, this time.


End file.
